


Just Jack

by Anonymous



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Social Media AU, handwaving in the general direction of hockey and plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Zimmermann, NHL Superstar of the Providence Falconers, is on the verge of coming out as gay. His team’s PR Team insists he establishes a social media presence before he does so that he can better control the narrative after. The only problem? He totally has a crush on the consultant they hire to help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Jack

**Author's Note:**

> listen.....i have zero good excuses for this.

            “Listen, I mean this in the nicest possible way, but my job here is to convince people that you have some basic emotions about things that aren’t hockey,” Eric Bittle said from across the table. He was dressed smartly in slacks and a printed button-down that pulled across his biceps appealingly. Jack was having a hard time focusing on anything else. “We all know the Jack Zimmermann ‘story’, but no one really knows just Jack. Does that make sense?”

            “Just Jack?” he asked, blinking at Eric.

            “You know.” Eric waved encouragingly. “What you do in off-season or what you do with your friends on days off. What do you do when you’re not being Jack Zimmermann, NHL player?”

            Jack stared at him blankly. He remembered all of the times that he had to swallow the bile at the back of his throat when someone joked that he was a hockey robot, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember when the last time was that he went out with friends that weren’t also teammates.

            Eric sighed, probably taking his silence for intransigence instead of genuine dumbfounded-ness.

            “Look, I’m going to just show you a few examples of the simplest ways we can do this.” Eric slid the laptop across the table to him and Jack saw that several tabs were open in the browser. There was a Twitter feed pulled up for a player from Seattle and another from Boston. Eric pulled his chair around to sit next to Jack when Jack made no move to touch the computer so he could take over navigation. “Okay, so, this first feed is Maksimik’s, yeah? It’s mostly updates about practices and game times – very straightforward. It’s the minimum effort. This other one from the Boston rookie…uh, Wheeler, is his name, is some of the same, but with other personal stuff thrown in to add some flavor like charity events and social stuff. Do you see the difference?”

            Jack did not. Twitter was a fairly mystifying concept to him and he didn’t see how narrating his lunch would help anyone feel like they knew him better. He said so and Eric sighed.

            “Mr. Zimmermann,” Eric said. “I think you’re missing the point.”

            “I thought I was ‘Just Jack’ now,” Jack said with a quirk of his eyebrow. Eric’s fingers froze mid-word on the keyboard and he looked over to Jack, his lips formed in a perfect ‘Oh’ of shock and then, surprising even Jack, Eric laughed.

            “They told me you weren’t funny,” he said.

            Jack smirked in response, unsurprised. Most of the Falconers and their staff thought Jack was a humorless creature, but the truth was that most of the time, they simply didn’t catch when he was joking. Eric recovered well though, bumping his shoulder gently against Jack’s and shaking his head. He went back to whatever he was typing and then pulled up a photo feed on another site.

            “For you, I actually thought we’d start with Instagram instead of Twitter. George told me you liked to take pictures back in college,” Eric said, sliding the computer a little closer to Jack so he could see the feed better. Eric scrolled the feed and let Jack look over his shoulder as he paused on a few shots of an ice rink and one of a smiling woman framed in sunlight.

            “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it,” Jack admitted. He took over scrolling when Eric was distracted by the buzzing of his phone. The feed belonged to another player out of Boston.

            “Do you live in a cave?” Eric asked, feigning concern as he furiously typed out a response to whatever message he’d just received.

            “If I do, then I pay too much in rent,” Jack said. He felt a small thrill of triumph at the way Eric’s lips twitched with a smile again even though he hadn’t looked up at Jack from whatever conversation he was in the middle of on his phone.

            Eric set his phone aside a minute later and gently commandeered the computer, opening up a few more bookmarked Instagram feeds before turning the computer back over to Jack to let him browse.

            “What do you think?” Eric asked after a long time. Jack blinked up from the computer. He had forgotten what it was they were doing for a moment because he’d gotten caught up in one of the feeds – it wasn’t a hockey player’s feed, it was a travel blogger’s feed, full of smiling friends and food.

            “Uh – nice,” Jack said, shrugging. “I mean, better than Twitter, at least.”

            Eric smirked at some private joke, but didn’t say anything as he pulled the computer back over to himself. He closed down the browser windows and shut the laptop, turning back to Jack.

            “Great,” Eric said. “Give me your phone.”

            “Why?”

            “I’m going to download Instagram and get you set up.”

            “Right now?” Jack asked. His phone felt heavy in his pocket all of a sudden. Eric squinted at him and then held his hand out expectantly. Jack squirmed under his gaze, but finally cowed, he handed his phone over, unlocking it for Eric.

            “Relax, Mr. Zimmermann, this will be painless,” Eric said as he swiped around on Jack’s phone. “I already set up an account for you and followed a bunch of people to get us started. I’m just setting it up on your phone and sending the account public right now so we’ll we’ll be in business – it won’t be any trouble to have the account verified. Do you have any photos on your phone that might be worth posting?”

            Eric looked up from the phone when Jack didn’t immediately answer. Jack felt a little winded and he must have looked it, because Eric’s all-business exterior melted into something a little more sympathetic.

            “Oh, honey,” he said. “I promise this will not be as bad as you’re thinking.”

            “I – what?” Jack asked. His head was spinning. He wanted to snatch his phone from Eric’s hands, but instead gripped the fabric of his pants, wringing the fabric under his fingers and willing the sudden wave of panic back down. Eric put his phone down and tentatively laid a hand on Jack’s, squeezing lightly. Jack counted to ten, focusing on the comforting warmth of the other man’s hand, and looked up at Eric.

            “You get the final say in everything that goes on this page, Mr. Zimmermann,” Eric said, squeezing his hand once more before pulling back. “This doesn’t have to be a personal diary or anything invasive. People just want to know that you’re a person under all that serious hockey player stuff. You don’t have to do much to convince them of that. Just throw them a bone or two every once and a while.”

            “Did George tell you why she’s making me do this?” Jack asked. It wasn’t the question that he had intended to ask, but he didn’t take it back. Eric shook his head. Jack struggled for the right words. Eric waited patiently, at rapt attention. “I’m planning on coming out as gay after the play-offs in a few months. She thought it might help with how the news goes over.”

             Eric went very still next to him. Then, a moment later, he seemed to shake himself and looked to Jack’s phone and then back to Jack again. His expression was softer than it had been all day.

            “Thank you for trusting me with that,” Eric said. “I had no idea.”

            Eric fixed him with an evaluating look and Jack tried to steady his racing heart, rubbing at his chest. Eric seemed to make a decision when he grabbed Jack’s phone from the table and tapped the screen awake. He tilted it over to Jack so Jack could unlock it for him and then swiped open the Instagram app, still tilting the phone so Jack could watch. For the next ten minutes, he walked Jack through how to post, like, comment and follow on Instagram in painstaking detail. Jack appreciated the distraction from his still pounding heart. By the time Eric gently asked him about photos again, he felt much calmer.

            “I have some,” he said and tapped the screen until his photo album came up. He pushed the phone back over to Eric, giving him silent permission to browse. “My better ones are on my computer, though.”

            “Jack, these are great,” Eric said, sounding genuinely impressed. It made Jack blush. It had been a long time since someone had looked at his photos. Years, even. Mostly he just took them in quiet moments, snapping a particularly nice view of a city skyline or a close-up of the feral cat that sometimes hung out around his apartment complex.  He’d never really thought of sharing them before.  “What do you think of this shot of the ice for your first Instagram?”

            Eric passed the phone back to him. He’d brought up a picture of the rink, emptied and smooth in preparation for a game. Jack had taken it last year during pre-season. It was a good shot. Jack nodded his assent before passing the phone back to Eric.

            “Nuh uh, Mr. Zimmermann.” Eric pressed the phone back into his hand. “It’s sink or swim. You gotta learn to do it yourself.”

            Jack took the phone back, hesitating before opening up the other app. Eric watched him with nods of approval as he tapped his way through the post, forgoing the filter. When it came time to caption it, he froze and looked over to Eric for guidance.

            “Keep it simple for now,” Eric said. “Just say ‘hello’.”

            Jack nodded and typed it in, tilting it back over to Eric for approval. Eric tapped into the text field and brought up the symbols keyboard before scrolling through the emojis and choosing one that might pass for a hockey stick. Jack smiled down at it, oddly charmed.

            “Okay,” Eric said. “You ready for your social media debut?”

            Jack grimaced. He looked down at his phone and let out a big gust of air.

            “You really think this will help?”

            “I do,” Eric said. “It helps to have as many people as possible on your side for this type of thing. If we do this right, then we can get out ahead of the story too.”

            Jack nodded. His fingers hovered over the post button for a long time before he took the plunge and pressed it. The screen jumped to a spinning wheel and then his feed re-appeared with the shot of the ice rink on top. Jack let out another forcible breath, reminding himself to breath. Eric patted him on the shoulder bracingly before standing.

            “Alright, Mr. Zimmermann, now that we’ve crossed that off the list, you’re done here for the day,” Eric announced, packing his laptop up and gathering the few papers he’d gathered. He left a pad of paper out and grabbed a pen that rolled across the table to scrawl across it. “This is my email and phone number. I want you to look through your pictures and send me some. I can help pick out which ones to post next. I think posting one or two a week will be great. Remember to take some new shots too, okay?”

            Eric looked up to check that Jack had heard and Jack nodded in compliance. He took the folded slip of paper without complaint and folded it further so it would fit in his wallet. He was chewing on the words for a long moment before he was able to get them out.

“Just Jack really _is_ fine,” he said. “In fact, I’d prefer it if you called me Jack.”

            Eric smiled, bright and warm. He held out his hand for Jack to shake and gripped Jack’s hand firmly.

            “My friends call me Bitty,” he offered, a little shy for the first time that day.

            Jack returned the smile.

            “I’ll send you some more pictures tonight, Bitty,” he promised.

 

\--

 

**DATE: APRIL 1, 2016 20:10**

**FROM: J Z <jz01_90@gmail.com>**

**TO: Eric R. Bittle <ericrbittle@gmail.com>**

**SUBJECT: Additional Photos**

 

Attached: IMG_5683.jpg, IMG_2198.jpg, IMG2343.jpg

 

Hey Bitty, What do you think of these?

 

\- Jack

 

 

           

**On Wed, Apr 2, 2016 at 9:35 AM, Eric R. Bittle <ericrbittle@gmail.com> wrote:**

 

 

Jack,

 

THOSE ARE GREAT! You’re gonna be Insta-famous in no time. ;)

 

Did you see that you already have 13k followers? Jack, that’s amazing – it’s way more than we expected right off the bat. People are so excited to see you on social media – just remember, everything you post is your decision. If you feel uncomfortable or stuck on what to post, let me know. These pictures are a great start – space ‘em out for the next week or so to get a feel for it.

 

We can meet again when you’re back in town!

 

Best,

 

B

 

 

 

\--

 

            Jack was surprised at the ferocity with which his Instagram took off. Bitty had given him fair enough warning, but it was still dizzying to see the amount of likes and comments that his page drew. Especially since he did his best to keep the “hockey stuff” to a dull roar, as Bitty had suggested as he gently steered Jack away from posting too many pictures of skates or ice rinks. Bitty had insisted approving his photos and captions before Jack posted for several weeks. Jack didn’t mind as much as he thought he might. He liked to hear Bitty’s feedback on the photos.

            They’d progressed from emails to texts somewhere along the way and Jack had made a point to follow Bitty on Instagram after he had discovered that Bitty hadn’t included himself the first time. (It was almost inexplicably full of pictures of pie.) They’d met up once more to talk about how it was going and Bitty had talked about setting him up on Twitter, but had backed off pretty quickly when Jack showed reluctance to comply.

            “Doing social media poorly is worse than not doing it all,” Bitty had said at that meeting, patting Jack on the arm. “We can move onto other platforms when and if you’re ready. Don’t worry about it. What you’re doing now is _great_.” Jack had been stupidly relieved. It was only after the meeting was over that he thought to be disappointed that he wouldn’t see Bitty again for a long time if he didn’t start a Twitter. He had mastered Instagram, as far as he could tell, and as Bitty put it at that meeting, “The training wheels are off!”

            Jack still sent him the occasional photo, fishing for a compliment, and Bitty was always quick to reply, but it was always with a professional veneer. Jack wasn’t quite sure what he wanted from Bitty and he wasn’t sure how to strike up any conversation that wasn’t about his Instagram so every week or so, he would check in with a photo just to elicit Bitty’s approved reaction text.

            It was the picture of the cat that changed things. Jack had barely pressed post when his phone buzzed with a text from Bitty. He smiled when he read it. It was decidedly casual in a way that most of his texts with Bitty hadn’t been before and in turn, it made him feel a little reckless.

           

 

**FROM: BITTY**

**TO: JACK**

 

jack!!!!! that cat is too cute. it’s not yours, right?

 

**FROM: JACK**

**TO: BITTY**

 

No J Just a stray in the neighborhood

 

**FROM: BITTY**

**TO: JACK**

 

you should take him in!!! :catemoji:

 

 

            Jack pressed his lips together in a smile, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. In retrospect, he wasn’t sure why he did it. It might have been the gratuitous use of exclamation points or the cat emoji or maybe he had just been looking for an excuse all along. Instead of typing out a response, he hit the call button. It rang once before Bitty picked up, a little breathless.

            “Jack?” he asked. There was music pulsing in the background and someone laughed. “What’s wrong?”

            “Wrong?” Jack asked, confused. “Nothing. I –”

            “Jack.” Bitty interrupted. “You don’t have to adopt the cat if you don’t want to.”

            Bitty would have succeeded in sounding somewhat pulled-together had he not punctuated the statement with a giggle. His voice was warm and silly on the other end and quite unlike Jack had ever heard it. The vowels were long and languid and Jack abruptly realized that Bitty was drunk.

            Jack grinned on his end of the call, glad no one was around to see him do it. He looked to the clock in his kitchen to see that it only mid-afternoon.

            “Bitty, are you drunk?” he asked, teasing.

            “Why, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty gasped. “I don’t know why you would think that.”

            Jack hummed, swallowing his laughter and they sat in a strangely comfortable silence on the phone while Jack twirled a pen in his fingers and thought of something else to say.

            “What are you doing?” he asked finally, after he determined that he had nothing more clever to say. Bitty didn’t seem to mind. Jack imagined that he could almost hear the other man smiling on the other end of the line.

            “Baking,” Bitty said softly, as if it were a secret. Then, after another moment, he added, “It’s my birthday.”

            “It is?” Jack asked, surprised.

            “Yeah,” Bitty sighed.

            “Shouldn’t someone be baking for you, then?” Jack asked.

            Bitty giggled again, as if that was a particularly funny witticism. Jack didn’t understand it. He knew from Bitty’s Instagram that Bitty liked to bake (a lot), but it still seemed to stand to reason that no one should have to bake for their own birthday. Bitty seemed to divine his line of thinking, even through his drunkenness.

            “You’ve never had my pies, so you don’t understand.” Bitty sighed again and it made Jack ache a little. He licked his lips, feeling a little dry-mouthed all of a sudden.

            “No,” he agreed. “They always look so nice though. Makes me want to ditch my diet plan.”

            “Oh, they’ll make you want to do more than that.” Bitty slurred the words together just enough for it border on suggestive. Jack wasn’t sure if Bitty actually meant it that way, but regardless, it sent a bolt of attraction right through him.            

            “Oh, yeah?” Jack asked. The implication hung heavily between them for so long that Jack almost opened his mouth to apologize when Bitty finally spoke again.

            “I’ll bring one by for you soon.”

            Jack breathed again at the coy undertone in Bitty’s careful words. He smiled.

            “Looking forward to it.”

 

 

\--

 

 

            Bitty was true to his word.

            When Jack got back from an extended roadie the next week, tired and bleary from the bus, Bitty had been waiting for him in the parking lot of the arena with a pie tin. He’d smiled gently at Jack when he extended out to him and Jack took it. It smelled heavenly, like apples and cinnamon and everything good in the world.

            They stood there awkwardly, Jack staring at Bitty and Bitty smiling back at him until Jack was startled out of it by the sounds of cars starting up all around them. The rest of team was slowly streaming out of the parking lot around them and Jack realized that they had drawn a few long looks from those who were also lingering.

            “Do you want to…” he trailed off, unsure what he even wanted to do. He was exhausted from the extended trip, but he also couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do than spend a little time with Bitty after spending most of his spare time over the last two weeks thinking about that phone call. They hadn’t spoken or texted afterwards and Jack had been half-afraid that he would never hear from Bitty again. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, trying that instead.

            Bitty smiled a little brighter and Jack found that he loved the soft pink tinge of his cheeks when he did so. He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t stop himself. He knew they should move, get out of plain sight if they were going to look at each other like a bunch of smitten idiots, but he felt stuck to the pavement. Bitty cast an appraising eye to their surroundings and looked back to Jack’s car.

            “Do you want to get dinner?” Bitty asked.

            Jack nodded and then feeling a little bold, he asked, “Take out?”

            Bitty’s smile took on a wicked edge, but he nodded. Jack unlocked the car and Bitty climbed in the passenger side of his truck without being asked. Jack liked the sight of him there. Bitty was wearing a snug flannel shirt, buttons open to a tank underneath, and a pair of narrowly tailored pants that were wreaking havoc on Jack’s imagination, tired though it was. He kept sneaking glances over to admire the other man and blushing when Bitty caught him looking.

            Jack stopped at a Chinese place near his apartment and they ordered enough food to feed a small family, but Jack had abruptly realized he was starving when they walked in and Bitty was happy to throw out suggestions. If their gazes lingered a little too long on each other, no one else seemed to notice. Jack was a familiar-enough sight in the neighborhood by now that the glow of his fame had mostly faded and Bitty didn’t seem to ping anyone’s radar at all as Jack’s companion. Jack’s fingers had brushed against his while they waited in the corner of the cramped restaurant for their order to be ready and Bitty’s fingers had tangled with his for a mere second before they ghosted away again like it never happened. Jack’s hand burned at the contact, eager for more. He longed for the day when it wouldn’t matter anymore if he wanted to take another man’s hand in public, but he knew that today wasn’t the right day for a dozen different reasons.

            They collected their food and Jack drove the last few minutes to his apartment in silence. He grabbed the bags of food and Bitty grabbed the pie, following him upstairs.  He flicked the lights on his apartment and threw his keys in the bowl at the front table before leading Bitty into the living room and leaving the bags of food there. He returned a moment later with plates and utensils for dinner. Bitty was perched on couch, waiting for him, as he carefully rolled up the sleeves of his flannel. The way his fore-arms flexed and moved as he did so made Jack feel a little unfocused.

            “You know,” Bitty said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them since they’d left the restaurant. “When I woke up the day after my birthday, it took a lot of convincing from my friend Lardo to get me to believe that I had openly flirted with Jack Zimmermann on the phone and that he, for all appearances’ sake, seemed to enjoy it.”

            Jack caught his breath, feeling a little giddy. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion, the hunger or the overwhelming knowledge that Eric Bittle was in his apartment, looking imminently kissable. He took a few steps closer to Bitty, careful to keep a few feet of buffer between them. Bitty still fiddling with the cuffs of his flannel, not quite meeting Jack’s eyes. Jack waited.

            “That’s what we’re doing here, right, Jack?” Bitty asked, softly enough that if Jack had been much farther away he wouldn’t have been able to make it out. “We’re flirting?”

            Jack took a few more steps towards Bitty and sat down next to him, crowding into his space, a whisper away from one of Bitty’s knees. Bitty’s eyes snapped up to Jack’s, as though his proximity had startled him.

            “I was hoping to do more than flirt,” Jack said. He wasn’t sure where the courage to say such a thing had come from, but didn’t have long to ponder it because Bitty had taken it as his cue to pull Jack down for a searching, hot kiss. Jack sighed into it, letting Bitty pull him even closer, licking into his mouth. They pressed together eagerly, Bitty pressing Jack further into couch as he curled sideways into him until Jack grabbed him around the waist and pulled him into his lap. Bitty broke off kissing him to gulp in several ragged mouthfuls of air and Jack loved the way he was so undone after just a few minutes of kissing. Jack pressed open-mouthed kisses to Bitty’s collarbone, nudging the flannel off one shoulder with his nose. He had just reached up to tug it all the way off when his stomach growled loudly, interrupting them.

            Bitty let out a huff of amusement that turned into a full-on laugh when his own stomach growled in response.

            “Hungry,” he said, sounding as drowsy with desire as Jack felt. Jack sighed, and pulled back to press a chaste kiss to Bitty’s mouth. Bitty untangled himself from Jack’s lap and stood to pull himself together, yanking the flannel back over his shoulder and running a hand through his hair. Jack watched him, still a little dazed that he was actually there. Bitty reached over and curled a few fingers through Jack’s hair, smoothing it down. Jack reached around him and hugged him close, his face buried in Bitty’s stomach.

            “I’m glad you came,” he said, looking up at Bitty standing over him. Bitty leaned down to kiss him again and Jack slid a hand around his neck to pull his closer before Bitty pushed back on his chest to break the kiss. He was grinning down at Jack.

            “Me too,” Bitty said. He grabbed the plates from the table and shoved one towards Jack pointedly. “Let’s eat. We’ll have time for all the other stuff later.”

            Bitty carried on the conversation effortlessly, even when Jack didn’t have anything to contribute. Jack listened attentively, soaking in the stories about Bitty’s childhood and college years. They’d done a little of this before, but it felt new and special now that Jack knew it might lead somewhere other than idle chitchat.

            When they were ready to break into the pie, Jack took it into the kitchen to find an appropriate knife and new plates. Bitty followed, quietly leaning against one of the counters and watching as Jack sliced into the pie and carefully plated two slices.

            “When I came out,” Bitty said. “My parents didn’t talk to me for two years.”

            It knocked the wind out of Jack. He abruptly put the plates of pie back down so he could grip the edge of the counter instead. Bitty looked sad, but it was a detached kind of sadness that came only with time and space from the thing that caused it. Jack was all too familiar with it.

            “I didn’t really get to come out to my parents,” Jack said. “When I came to in the hospital, they just knew. And that was that. I think they thought…I don’t know what they thought, I guess.”

            Bitty was looking at him with a complicated sort of expression that Jack couldn’t read. He held Bitty’s gaze steadily until Bitty tilted his head to the side and looked away, but not quickly enough for Jack to miss the glistening in his eyes from unshed tears. When he looked back to Jack, his expression was cleaner, less complicated. Jack couldn’t help but frown.

            “Do they talk to you now?” he asked.

Bitty’s expression wavered until Bitty wrinkled his nose and shrugged some of the tension away.

            “Sometimes,” Bitty admitted. “Mama tries real hard.”

            Jack pried his own fingers free of the counter, not needing it for grounding anymore. He crossed the kitchen to Bitty and leaned on the counter next to him, arm brushing against his. Bitty leaned into it, letting his head fall on Jack’s shoulder in a clear invitation to touch. Jack slipped his arm around Bitty and pulled him into his chest, slotting his chin on top of Bitty’s head. Bitty hugged him back fiercely.

            “Jack,” he said, muffled by Jack’s embrace. “What you’re going to do is gonna change a lot of minds, you know.”

            Jack pulled back a little, feeling a little ashamed by the swoosh of guilt that racked him. His hands shook a little as he twisted them into Bitty’s shirt and he counted down from ten to himself, breathing on each number, before he could find his voice.

            “Bitty,” he said. “I wish I could say that’s why I’m doing it.”

            Bitty tipped his face up to look at Jack and his eyes were so open and full of easy affection that Jack felt wrecked just looking at him. He’d done nothing to earn that from Bitty. He tried to pull himself out of Bitty’s arms, but Bitty stopped him with a firm kiss that caught him on the side of the mouth.

            “Your motives won’t change the results,” Bitty said, his voice low and soothing. His hands were rubbing up and down Jack’s arms, applying a pleasant pressure that was unwinding Jack even as his heart hammered.

            “I’m so tired of not being able to have this,” Jack murmured against Bitty’s lips, his face bowed close to the other man’s. Bitty continued to run one hand down his arm while the other curled around Jack’s neck, his fingers tracing firm circles into the skin on Jack’s neck. “Coming out is a selfish act on my part.”

            “Jack,” Bitty whispered. “You can have this. You’re allowed to have this. That’s not selfish.”

            Jack crushed his lips against Bitty’s, pushing him back into the counter for a brief, intense kiss. When he pulled back, they were both breathing hard. Jack pulled back as far as Bitty’s grip on his neck would allow and quirked his lips at the other man.

            “Is it later yet?” he asked, his brow furrowing in mock confusion.

            Bitty looked frozen for a moment before his eyes widened and he swatted at Jack’s arm.

            “Jack Zimmermann, they told me you weren’t funny,” Bitty said.

            Jack laughed, unable to stop the sudden euphoria that bubbled to the surface. Bitty pulled him down for another kiss, his hands sliding under Jack’s t-shirt teasingly before he pulled back again. Jack smiled down at him, his own hands sliding under Bitty’s flannel to slide against the smooth skin of Bitty’s tanned shoulders. Bitty shivered at that and allowed Jack to slide the shirt off completely, letting it fall to the floor beside them.

            “I think it is later,” Bitty agreed.

 

\--

 

            The day before the scheduled press conference, Jack posted a picture to his Instagram of a tan blonde man laughing at someone just out of frame as he pulls a pie out of an oven. Jack doesn’t bother with a caption beyond a heart emoji. Bitty later accused him of stealing his own thunder, but Jack couldn’t have cared less. He wasn’t doing it for the attention, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out with me on tumblr. [i'm a blast.](http://ronanlynchisneversleepingagain.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> leave me comments and i'll love you 5eva. :DDD


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